


Huzzah!

by AgentNerd



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Because there were no cellphones in the Renaisssance, Drunken Shenanigans, Family Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Historical Inaccuracy, Humor, Jousting, Mild Vomiting, Peter is ALL ABOUT the faire, Precious Peter Parker, Renaissance Faires, Team Bonding, The others are cool with it, Tony is not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 02:26:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentNerd/pseuds/AgentNerd
Summary: “I can’t believe you roped us all into this!” Tony complained to Peter, noting that the teen, currently leading the group, wouldn’t meet his eyes as he looked around at their surroundings with a huge grin on his face.“Hey, it was the kid’s turn to pick our team bonding activity,” Sam defended.“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d choose a renaissance faire!” Tony grumbled, blowing a feather out of his face with a huff and readjusting the ridiculous cap on his head.  Peter had insisted that they all dress up, said that they wouldn’t be allowed in if they didn’t, but as Tony looked around at all the white suburban parents in tank tops and cargo shorts, he realized that the kid had been telling bald-faced lies.





	Huzzah!

“I can’t _believe_ you roped us all into this!” Tony complained to Peter, noting that the teen, currently leading the group, wouldn’t meet his eyes as he looked around at their surroundings with a huge grin on his face.

“Hey, it was the kid’s turn to pick our team bonding activity,” Sam defended.

“Yeah, but I didn’t think he’d choose a _renaissance faire_!” Tony grumbled, blowing a feather out of his face with a huff and readjusting the ridiculous cap on his head.  Peter had insisted that they all dress up, said that they wouldn’t be allowed in if they didn’t, but as Tony looked around at all the white suburban parents in tank tops and cargo shorts, he realized that the kid had been telling _bald-faced lies._

Possibly the only positive thing about it was that no one recognized them in such silly outfits.

“Lighten up, man.  It’s _fun_ ,” Clint chided, and they’d been here for all of two minutes, how did he have time to sneak off, buy a turkey leg, and come back?  He took a large bite out of the greasy, fatty meat stick, and Tony grimaced in disgust.

“Uh, no.  Fun is electricity.  Indoor plumbing.  _Technology—_ my phone barely has a signal here, and it was made by _me!_ ” He turned to Wanda and Natasha, both adorned in ornate gowns with big skirts and corsets, “Come on, you guys can’t possibly be having _fun_ in those!”

“It’s pretty,” Wanda defended, at the same time Natasha shrugged and said, “I’ve worn worse,” and it was safe to say that those skirts were already holding a number of lethal weapons inside them, despite the security check at the front entrance.

As if out of nowhere, an actor appeared in front of them wearing a large burlap sack advertising for something called “The Mud Show”.  Tony flinched back at his presence, but the man didn’t seem to notice.  “Good morrow!” he exclaimed, “Mud Show at three o’clock!  The highest entertainment in all the kingdom!”

He quickly wandered away after his announcement, surely to pounce on the next unsuspecting group, but Peter whipped around to the rest of the adventures, pure unbridled delight on his face.  “Doth thou hear that?  Mud Show at three!”

“Why are you talking like—what even is a Mud Show?” Tony questioned.

“I doth not know, but it sounds cool!” he struggled to maintain his horrible accent as excitement overtook him, “Oh look, archery!”

They approached a booth draped in safety netting that had a long alley ending in two round targets, a costumed worker manning a collection of bows and arrows at the front.  Peter hurried toward it and, after passing the remains of his turkey leg to Thor, Clint quickly followed.  After forking some cash over, the worker had equipped them both with bows and three arrows each.  Peter nocked his first arrow, only for Clint to interrupt.

“Nah, Pete, you gotta hold it like this.  Relax your arm more; see?” he instructed, demonstrating.  Peter nodded and readjusted his grip, then took careful aim at the target, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow in concentration.  With a deep breath, he let go.

…and missed the target entirely.

“Ah, that’s okay, these bows are kind of crap anyway,” Clint consoled, and then proceeded to get a bullseye with his own.  Peter scowled at him and readied his next arrow, this time hitting just the edge of the outer ring.

“Go Peter!” cheered Wanda from behind the netting, bolstered by the enthusiastic applause from the other Avengers.  His last arrow managed to hit the target just slightly further in than the first.  Clint, looking every bit like Legolas with his spirit-gummed elf ears and leather jerkin, managed two more bullseyes with almost no effort.

“Shit man, that was super cool!” the worker exclaimed, breaking character for a moment.  He quickly regained his composure though and pulled out a slip of paper.  “I mean, thy skill is very impressive, good elf!  To reward thy victory, take this—good for a free drink at the pub in the town square!”

“Sweet,” Clint said, pocketing his winnings.

“And a good effort to you too, young sir,” the worker remarked to Peter, handing him a different slip of paper, “For two arrows on the target, I award thee ye olde coupon!”

Peter read the coupon and frowned.  It was for ten percent off the handmade soap stall next door.  He made his way out of the booth and handed it to Bruce, who smiled at the gesture.  Peter whipped out the paper schedule that he had picked up at the front gates and scanned it over for their next activity.

“There’s a joust starting in fifteen minutes!  If we hurry, we can make it to the arena in time.”

“Eh, I don’t really think I’m up for people violently ramming each other with sticks on horseback,” Bruce commented.  He looked down at the coupon in his hand, “That stall actually did look kind of cool though, I might just go browse…”

“Okay, we’ll meet back at the maypole in an hour, then,” Peter said.

“Or I could just text you guys and see where you’re at…”

Peter gasped with mock affront.  “Bruce!  There was no such thing as _texting_ in the renaissance!”

Tony scoffed and stared at the passerby, “There was no such thing as utilikilts either, but _that_ man has chosen to wear one with a Hawaiian shirt, and I want to claw my eyes out.”

“Be nice,” Steve chided.

Tony sighed, “You’re right.  Who am I to judge?  I’m wearing balloons for pants,” he poked at his breeches with an extremely defeated look on his face as they parted ways with Bruce started toward the jousting arena.  After a minute, Tony looked back over at Steve.  “With all this ye olde bullshit though, you must feel right at home.”

Steve frowned, “I grew up in the nineteen-thirties, Tony, not the fifteen-thirties,”

“It does remind me of home, though,” Thor said, wistfully gazing at a blacksmithing demonstration going on in one of the many open-air shops.  He was looking ridiculously attractive that day, wearing an open-necked shirt and doublet and rocking a silly hat, though he seemed oblivious to all of the lustful stares directed his way by men and women alike. “Though their technology is rudimentary, the festivities and charm are very reminiscent of Asgard.”

“Sounds like a fun place to be,” Sam commented.

“It is.  Someday I should like you all to visit.”

“Hold on,” Natasha said, stopping the entire group in their tracks.  “I want to try this.”

They were standing in front of a knife throwing game, set up with the same safety netting and targets as the archery from earlier.  Peter made an impatient noise, “But the joust!”

“It’ll only take a minute,” Natasha said, approaching the woman in charge and exchanging a handful of dollar bills for a handful of knives.  These targets, instead of being round circles, were boards painted with various mythical creatures, red hearts on their chests indicating the equivalent of a bullseye.  Natasha took her first knife and lined it up carefully, and with a quick flick of her wrist nailed a dragon right in the heart.  In minutes, every single creature had a knife buried in its chest, and Natasha was being handed another drink coupon by the employee, who looked half terrified and half in love.

“Okay, let’s go!” Peter said, urging the group forward.  It wasn’t long before they were stopped once again, this time by Wanda.

“Hey, isn’t that the pub?” she asked, pointing at a tall, half-timber building fronted with a tall counter and surrounded by tables and chairs.  The group seemed to naturally head in that direction, much to Peter’s dismay.  He groaned.

“Hey, we gotta spend these coupons at some point,” Clint defended. 

“Alcohol.  Finally, an idea I can get behind,” Tony agreed.

“We’re gonna miss the joust!” Peter reminded them once again, only for Steve to pat his shoulder in apology.

“The schedule says there’s another one at three.”

“But that’s when the Mud Show is!”

Tony turned around and shoved an ungodly amount of money into Peter’s hand.  “Here, buy yourself some food on a stick or something.  It’s lunchtime.” 

“You guys are the worst,” Peter said, but there was no real malice behind the words as he started to look over the food menu.  Sometime later, he found himself seated at a table with considerably more tipsy Avengers (minus Steve), scarfing down one of the three shepherd’s pies he ordered with reckless abandon while listening to a nearby bard play his lute.

“Y’know, this place isn’t so bad,” Tony commented, taking a large swig out of a shiny metal tankard.

“I think it’s great.  We should come here every summer,” Wanda suggested.

“Here, here!” Clint cheered, raising his own tankard for a toast.  Everyone joined in, even Peter with his cup of ye olde Coca-Cola.

“We’ll have to meet up with Bruce soon,” Peter reminded them, shoving the last piece of shepherd’s pie into his mouth.  The others worked on finishing their own drinks, and when they finally started heading towards the maypole, they were only slightly wobbly on their feet.

“Looks like you guys have had a good time,” Bruce commented with a smile as they approached.

“Could say the same for you,” Peter replied, gesturing towards the many bags looped around his arms.  There was definitely soap poking out of one of them, but were those wooden windchimes?  And that was _definitely_ a lawn gnome dressed like a wizard.

Bruce shrugged.  “What can I say?  There are a lot of good craftsmen here.”

“MEAT!  Meat for sale!  I got meat!” shrieked a woman as she walked through the crowd, a box filled with jerky hanging off her chest by a strap around her neck.  Clint and Thor hurriedly stumbled over, returning in an instant with fistfuls of dried meat.

“This place is excellent!” Thor declared as Clint tore ravenously into his jerky, “Just when I thought it couldn’t get any better!”

The sound of drums suddenly caught everyone’s attention, and they turned around to see a large parade of people making their way down the street.

“Make way!  Make way for her royal highness the queen!” shouted a man standing at the front of the procession, and everyone rushed over to the side of the street to avoid being trampled, effectively pinning themselves in place with the crowd.  They watched as a group of drummers passed by, followed by a group of dancers and peasants that shouted indecipherable things as they moved along.  Behind them marched several soldiers holding spears that had to be at least ten feet tall, and then came the noblemen and women sat atop horses, waving daintily with one hand at the onlookers.  Peter tried to reach out to touch one of the horses and immediately had his hand slapped away by Tony with a disapproving frown.

Finally, at the very end, there was a woman in an enormous, elaborate dress sat atop a white horse flanked by two guards, and it could only be the queen.  She too was waving to the people, and Peter suppressed the urge to bow as she passed by.  What could he say?  She had a very dignified air about her.

Random fairegoers followed the tail end of the parade, and Peter pushed everyone forward.  “Come on!  We should see where they’re going!”

They trailed the parade through the town, more and more people gathering behind them until they finally reached a large stage backed by half-timber facades, and it was to this stage that all of the actors went.  A brass band in the balcony above heralded the arrival of the queen, and with a wave of her hand, all of the ruckus fell into silence.

“Good morrow to you all, I am delighted to welcome you to the faire!” she announced, “’Tis a beautiful season in this year of our lord fifteen-seventy-four, and our fine people have put together a number of festivities—”

“Your Highness!” shouted an actor, running through the crowd toward the stage, “Your Highness, I have an urgent message from the ambassador of Spain, you must read it immediately!”

What followed turned out to be an unexpected political drama recounting a fictitious trade war complete with numerous betrayals between different ambassadors and diplomats.  The Avengers watched it all with increasingly confused looks on their faces as they tried to follow everything that was going on.

“I didn’t know renaissance faires had plots,” Wanda said, slightly bewildered.

“Feels like I’m watching Game of Thrones or something, but, like…without the fun parts,” Sam agreed.

The whole thing ended rather anti-climactically, with the promise that the warring nations would resolve their differences in the jousting arena (Peter had been hoping for an impromptu sword fight—but come to think of it, it probably wouldn’t be that safe with so many people pressed up against the stage). 

“Huzzah to our great nation and the multitude of festivities in store for us today,” the herald exclaimed, wrapping up the show, “Hip hip!”

“Huzzah!” exclaimed the crowd in unison.  Peter excitedly joined in, and most of the other Avengers did too, with varying levels of reluctance.

“Hip hip!”

“Huzzah!”

“Hip hip!”

“HUZZAH!”

The crowd dispersed quickly after the queen and her court exited the stage, and Peter and the Avengers set off to occupy their time until the joust.  They browsed the kitschy shops, watched an old-timey magician perform in the street, and had to hunt down Clint and Thor after they got separated from the group for nearly twenty minutes, having to all but drag them away from a pub crawl filled with boisterous men and women.

They made it to the jousting arena fifteen minutes early, which was a good thing because the stands were filling up quickly.  They filed into a prime position in the middle of the arena and laughed at a particularly exuberant employee hawking little felt pennants that matched the colors of the jousters.  Peter was practically bouncing off his seat, he was so excited, and he cheered wildly when the first horse and knight came out to do a lap around the arena.

“This is so cool!” he exclaimed as the knight’s competitor appeared, eyes glued to the arena as the two started trading smarmy insults.

“They haven’t even done anything yet,” Tony commented.

Peter turned to look at Tony, “C’mon Mr. Stark, didn’t you ever want to be a knight when you were a kid?”

“No way,” Tony answered immediately. “Horses terrified me.”

Steve laughed out loud, “Seriously?”

“They’re dangerous at both ends and crafty in the middle!” he defended as all the Avengers laughed at his expense.

“Quiet, they’re starting!” Peter shushed suddenly as the knights started picking up their lances.  They positioned themselves at either end of the arena, paused for a breath, and then they were off.

Shields and lances collided with each other with a mighty crack and an explosion of splinters, The blue knight—representing England—coming out victorious that round.  The crowd went wild, and then Peter heard a horrific retching sound.  He turned to see that Clint, apparently having drunk too much, had vomited straight into the lap of the man sitting in front of him.  A very large, scary-looking, now extremely angry man.

“Come on, time to go,” Natasha said, yanking a still green-looking Clint by the arm out of the stands and motioning everyone else to follow.  She could have taken that man easily in a fight if it had come to that, but she didn’t want to already make any more of a scene than what Clint already had.

“Do we have to?” Peter begged as the knights prepared for the second round of jousting, but he was already being dragged away by Tony.

“Look it up on Youtube, kid, I’m sure someone’s recording,” he answered, looking all too ready to leave.  Peter groaned, but let himself be shuffled out anyway.  At least he got to watch some of the joust.

They never did find out what the Mud Show was.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been going to the Ren Faire for a couple years now, and though it sounds like it should be self-explanatory, I still don't know what the Mud Show is. Seriously, try to look it up. Their website is from the early 2000s, and it leaves you with more questions than answers.
> 
> Also, if anyone is inspired and would like to make art of the Avengers dressed up in Ren Faire costumes, I would love you forever. You can reach me here or on tumblr at theagentnerd.tumblr.com!


End file.
